<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Southbound by ginwhitlock</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24542959">Southbound</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginwhitlock/pseuds/ginwhitlock'>ginwhitlock</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Set in Texas, bella is a flight risk, bella is human, jasper is still a vampire, post New Moon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 00:21:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,513</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24542959</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginwhitlock/pseuds/ginwhitlock</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Cullens leave her behind, Bella is left to pick up the pieces by herself. A year after her eighteenth birthday, a split second decision lands her in her truck, running far away from everything she has ever known. She decides to go south. What will she find in San Angelo, Texas?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jasper Hale/Bella Swan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>214</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Not in Forks Anymore</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a test to see if I will continue this story, as this would be quite a lengthy one. Feedback is appreciated.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I’d been feeling as though my life had become some country road split wide, a cracked spine of one of the novellas sitting in my bookcase back home. Like a slick tarmac launch pad which only holds dead bodies. An overgrown forest with invisible party lines. </p><p>The truck bed was freezing below my back, the only thing which reminded me that the cool slip of midnight was not some waking dream. </p><p>Skimming my fingertips over the flannel laid down beneath me kept me grounded. It bound my roots together in manageable chunks. The broken gospel in my head is quieted. All that was left: a child dumped behind her home. A cluster of lambs waiting out in the rain. A hand held out. </p><p>The sky was a thousand different shades of silence tonight. Stars dotted the hills in swirls of white. I could see my hand start to reach up, as if to touch them, as if the universe were my personal mobile. </p><p>I reined myself in to just watching. Lying in the back of my rusted out Chevrolet, breathing in air that belongs to Nowhere, Texas. A puckered hole in the eastern stain of one of my father’s maps. </p><p>I reminded myself that staying in one place for longer than a breath wouldn’t kill me. But the gravel in my tires just might. </p><p>With a sigh I folded my body in the tightest curve I can muster, clamping tight to bring the muscles in my spine to their regular shape. A stretch of the palms, a shake of the ankles brought a crease to my brow. My sightline refused to stray from the tapestry before me, blooming gardens of constellations and stories all larger than any I’d ever wanted to hear. </p><p>A rogue blink to the fields stretched out before me reminded me of a particularly dry summer. It held my mother’s horrible quilting stint. Eight weeks of constant skin pricks and busted needles. I was still finding cotton swatches behind the couch the day I left Phoenix. The mismatched familiarity of the wheat sprouts and milo bushels did nothing for the hurt in my chest. The only thing I cared about though—the muffled mass of green of Forks couldn’t reach me out here. </p><p>No matter how sharply the memories flashed in front of my eyes, I didn’t believe I could ever collect enough rain to keep such things alive this far south. Just sugar and tobacco and everything else you’re not supposed to have. </p><p>A considerable jump down from the bed covered my boots in a fine layer of red dust. Not enough for the soles to even budge-- just to be nit-picked about. A wayward kick to my tires shedded it. </p><p>The walk to the front of the truck was almost silent, the crunch of rock dissipating in the air like locusts. But a step up on the ancient running board almost landed me flat on my ass. A loose bolt being the only chance in hell of holding the sucker to the chasse. The old metal arm of the side mirror proved to be my safety net as I cussed at my own forgetfulness. Six months gone it's been. And I still made the same mistake every night. </p><p>Another roll of duct tape to put on the shopping list. </p><p>Wedging open the metal door frame, I slid in— my jeans becoming a lit match on the vinyl seats. The keys, decorated in dime store blue nail polish, were already hanging out of the transmission. My hand went to twist for the millionth time that month—and I stopped. A tsunami of lethargy hit, smacking me square in the chest. I brought my hands outwards, anchoring them onto the cracked steering wheel as I pressed my forehead to the edge. </p><p>Drawn out and slow, my heart lowered into the pit of my stomach. A silent alarm. Crossing my eyes, I rolled my neck to the ceiling, as if in prayer. The cuts and the tears in the roof lining allowed them to refocus. Absently, my wrist found the ignition once more, bringing the beast alive with a hard twist. </p><p>The roar of the engine failed to shake me fully awake. So much so that it had become second nature to hold myself in the steel cab when the shadows started to appear at the corner of my vision. Ghosts haunting my every move, even still. </p><p>The sheer brightness of the 40 year-old headlights momentarily stung my retinas to attention. Just for long enough. </p><p>Involuntarily as it was, a shiver ran from the back of my skull to the skin of my toes. One hand gripped the steering wheel, the other wrapped around the shifter. It passed in waves. The ocean calling me back to that night Harry Clearwater died. Its siren song not strong enough to still me. Putting the behemoth into gear I eased onto the gas pedal, pulling me out of the ditch. I only clenched the wheel tighter in response. </p><p>The pull of the Texas sky sunk in deep around the headlights— leading me south.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Breaking Down</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bella wakes up in the middle of nowhere. She meets a certain cowboy when she investigates.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey! It's been almost two weeks since the last update, but I've been so busy not writing... well I guess I'll change that now. Don't expect constant updates, but maybe I just might start a schedule....</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>One day I’m going to have to admit to my demise. The casket will be small and the rain will be pouring like it does everyday there. Charlie’s eyes will puff up like abandoned birthday party balloons in the desert heat-- and I will not be there to dry them. The church parking lot is gonna look like a high school reunion. A maze of junkers that never quite made it out of Forks, the high heels of my former friends swapped out for rain boots. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a tearless goodbye from a pastor I never met and school acquaintances I never spoke to, the purple haze of my childhood bedroom will be packed into brown cardboard boxes. Like I didn’t live there at all. As if my mark on the world only existed in our-- my meadow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I could feel the curl of dandelion weeds at my back pocket but refused to move an inch. His ochre eyes were spun as thick as honey as he laid beside my body. There was a gleam of something I couldn’t place in the part of his lips, but I returned the smile with my own. The press of cold flesh spread through my neck, down my spine, through my toes and into the mush under his shoes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the small blink of my lashes his form disappeared into the air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bed of wildflowers around me turned to ash before I could reach for him. All I could smell was nothing like the forest and everything like a bonfire left wild. The flames crawled towards me, my body refusing to budge in its wake. My head screamed to just </span>
  <em>
    <span>MOVE.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>My eyes opened to a blurry mass of </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Tears rolling down my cheeks, their path as uncertain as my whereabouts as I raised up on my elbows. They dried before I could wipe them away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pads of my fingers found the line of ancient stitching on the bench seat like a security blanket. My rapidly blinking eyes rolled around the cab in an untraceable pattern. The windows were clear and still, the leather beneath my backside warm to the touch. I could see my reflection in the silver lining the dashboard, the dark blanche underneath my eyelids clenched at my tired heart</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were no flowers. No meadow. No </span>
  <em>
    <span>him. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Sitting up completely, I let out a breath I didn’t know I was carrying. The rushed exhale through my cracked lips brought my lungs to the dip of my ribs-- the familiar ache pulling the back of my skull taut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Outside, the swell of Texas sun rises just beyond a gathering of trees. I can’t remember how I got here, the smell of asphalt long gone. Instead a dirt road lined my eyesight. It gave far too little clue to my immediate surroundings. Above me the sky was as clear as the south gets and the ground solid like beaten down gravel-- but no road signs. No mile markers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can’t even see behind the horizon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The air in the cab became overcrowded with my fear, the push and pull of breath fogging up the chilled glass. I feel like a child left behind in a supermarket. Unreadable ques leading me farther and farther into the swamp of confusion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My tires sat flat against the path, just beside it, as if I had just turned off to get some shut-eye. But why here? The middle of absolute nowhere? Had I learned nothing from the nomad with the hair like my forest fire?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My hand twisted the ignition before I could stray to the silver scar on my right wrist. It’s memory glinting in the corner of my mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> All I can get out is the sputter of the motor, a failed attempt to rise the slumbering beast. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another hard turn returns with the same groan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I could feel the sweat start to slide down the expanse of my back in a winding trail. The salt water seeping into the flannel pushed up around my hips in a faux blanket. My palms slid around the wheel-- the leather close to splitting. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Me too, baby. Me too. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The door handle started to whisper to me. A stupid notion to leave the steel barrier hung onto the interior in flashing chrome. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I should've taken that damn cell phone Charlie tried to buy me last year. I could’ve at least called a tow. Maybe found out where in the hell I was-- but no. Who did I need to call back then? A boy who could pick out my heartbeat in a sea of a hundred exhausted teenagers? The press of my scent to his senses would’ve said everything I need to say anyway. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But now, no almost-not-quite-humans with super hearing as far as I could see. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rusted-out Chevy felt more and more like a cage by the minute. A rushed push of the door frame threw my feet to the red dirt. A careful hand skimmed along the side of the truck as I followed the structure to the bed in a half-creep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My ears were hypersensitive to the billow of wind blowing through the tops of the oak trees. The motion reminded me of the run on Edwar-- the creature’s back through the forest. Normally unwatchable to my dull eyes, but on his back I could see the restlessness of the air, the ever moving flight of dragonflies and underground wonders. Well up until I had the urge to puke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I couldn’t say the sight of the wavering treeline didn’t give me the same feeling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My entire body jumped nearly out of my skin at the sound of metal slapping something solid. My back clenched, the hair on the back of my nape sent sky-high. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Down girl, it’s alright, no need to get all bug-eyed on me now.” A man’s voice came from a few feet behind me. My mind raced with the decision to face him or not. To see the person who would finally take me out. Or to lay down and leave the world not knowing the monster’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A rough hand on my shoulder stops my thoughts in their measly tracks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know,” A deep breath let out just behind me bounced off the metal of the truck back into my ear, “I don’t know many people that stray over to these parts real often. You must not be from around here, miss.” His hand turned my body to face him, the packed dirt underneath my sneakers scuffing into the silent air. My body felt as though it was under a spell. A rabbit held under the jaws of a coyote. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His smile caught me off guard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was no show off teeth, carnivore-sharp grin. It was a gentle pull of lips. A soft rose blush underneath the skin. The rest of his face was shadowed by the brim of a worn leather cowboy hat, his eyes masked slightly by it. Dragging my eyes down, I could almost feel the cotton of his button-up. It looked lovingly washed, as if it was worn for decades and not weeks. His Wranglers were in the same predicament. A smudge of what looked like motor oil stained into the crease of his knee, a rip could be easily seen by his ankles. And on his feet-- matching cowboy boots. The spurs had the same metal of his belt buckle in a vintage way, I could almost see him buying them as a set in some small town in the middle of Mexico. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sweetheart I know I’m good lookin’ and all but I did ask you a question a lil’ while ago…” He trailed off, his mouth set in a teasing upturn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My eyes went wide, the fear lifting off my shoulders oddly by his tone. “I… Yes. You could say I’m not from around here.” The sentence tumbled out with a small thought of protecting myself. Keeping myself alive was first-- even if the apparent cowboy held himself like warm butter, quirked and sweet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His brow lifted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re as closed off as a heifer in the dry season ya know that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hand left my shoulder and held themselves up in mock surrender before placing them on his belt. His hip made contact with the side of the truck while starring me up and down. His eyes dragged up my fingers to my shoulder up to my lips and nose. My chest constricted with self consciousness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man in front of me rivaled every human boy I’ve ever met-- well man I’ve ever met. His legs, drawn out with a long line of denim, his shoulders square and broad. He looked older than </span>
  <em>
    <span>He </span>
  </em>
  <span>was, if anything he reminded me of</span>
  <em>
    <span> Jasper. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The wavy blond hair peeking out of his hat, curling around his laid back collar. The stone corners of his shaded jaw. The slightly tanned skin, made from working fields I didn’t need to see. Even the fullness of his lips reminded me of the veteran vampire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When his eyes landed on my own I realised-- he was waiting for me to speak again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a deep breath through the nose I managed to start, “I’ve been traveling from Fo-- the Pacific Northwest for a couple months. I got into Texas not too long ago.” A simple nod from his covered head prompted me to keep going, not commenting on my change of location. “I was just north of Lubbock last night. I woke up in my truck not long ago, but I’m not too sure where I am to be honest.” A low breath left my throat when I finished. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His stature straightened and I could now see how truly tall he was. He towered over me by a foot, almost. His mouth opened in a toothy smile and my brain clicked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god is this your land? I’m so sorry I didn’t know this was private land, my truck won’t start and I--” My ramble was suddenly cut off by a guttural laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Missy! You act like imma gonna what? You think imma skin your hide for wonderin’ onto this piece of dirt? C’mon now. Lemme getchu you somethin’ before you fall over dead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His back turned to me almost too fast. His form started to trek across to the treeline, his boots leaving indiscernible footprints into the rocky ground. I started to run to catch up and then stopped myself. Why would I follow this man? Did I have no self preservation? I didn’t even know him, no beachy waves or shiny belt buckle would be worth maybe dying over!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you comin’ or what missy? I need to call my brother about your truck, so we gotta go to the house. It’s not far I promise.”, he yelled from the treeline, somehow persuading me to inch forward, heel to toe, towards him. My brain lost in the end, my pace quickening until I was right on his tail. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His neck turned to look me dead in the face, the shadow from his hat casting over the both of us for a moment. It was the most serious look I had seen on him in our short time together. It was almost soldier-like. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never asked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My eyebrows pinched together. “Asked what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your name, darlin’.” His face broke, smiling in a childish way, making it look like the simplest thing in the word. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My thoughts of self preservation long gone, I responded, “...Bella.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His smile widened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Peter. Peter Whitlock.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Null Wind</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Not beat'd. Thank you for the comments! You really know how to make a girl excited to post a chapter. And-- if all goes to plan-- I'll be updating once a week for the foreseeable future!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>I’d never felt so </span>
  <em>
    <span>warm</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The golden light streaming through the open windows heated up the room in a dry embrace. I could see the filtering haze over every piece of honey-lacquered furniture piece in the living room. Bookcases lined up and down the walls on either side of the front door, highlighting a sitting area around a hand-tooled turkish rug. The dining room to my immediate right looked unused but tidy. For some reason, the live oak table looked like it could comfortably seat four. Who else did Peter entertain?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A drawn-out wind carried through the windows. I’ve had to learn that Texas breeze is just that-- a breeze and </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing </span>
  </em>
  <span>more. Had I not already had to endure the minimum eighty-five degree heat shield for the early majority of my life and not to mention the last two months, my jeans would feel like I was carrying steel wool up a mountain. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here Bell-- if I can call you Bell,” Peter started, arm still resting on the bronze door handle leading to the outside behind me, “go ahead and kick up your feet on the sofa and I’ll getcha somethin’ to simmer down this blasted heat.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I could hear his wooden heels click on the tile as he retreated into what I could only assume to be the kitchen, being that the floor was formatted like a doll house. Walls dividing the arid space without exception. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Esme would have been horrified. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The thought of her heart-shaped face made my heart flip, the stoney exterior shifting in my chest. The brick wall I’ve put up started to claw its way out of my throat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I slunk over to the dusty-looking brown chair in the corner, its position allowing me to see the front door and the kitchen opening to my right with ease. All my exits are straight-legged in front of me.</span>
  <em>
    <span> If I bolted before he came back in, I could make it to the door handle in just enough time. But god, what would I do then? If the truck is on it’s last leg-- if on any legs at all-- I’m sure it's hardly worth a likely buckshot in the ass. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As my back pockets touched the softened hide my brain went into full overdrive. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What do you think WERE doing? You should be on the road, basting Lynard Skynard in some southwestern dry county, not act like you’re meeting a boy’s parents for THE SECOND TIME EVER! Do you not have any common sense? What would happen if Edwar--</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I hope you like sun tea.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A rough-knuckled hand held out a glass filled to the brim with squared off iced cubes and murky brown liquid. The cup glittered with a department store shine. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They must’ve been his special ones. Guess no one gets guests out here. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My hand slowly reached out and took it, a tentative sip following, my fingers sliding on the chilled surface. It tasted like roses and honeysuckle, a contrast to the red dirt lining my soles and the open air around everything here. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was only then that I realised he had taken off his hat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes were beautiful. Mahogany stained, hand-sanded, fired art. The swirling of reflective speckling nearest his pupils brought out the darkened freckles on his cheeks. His sandy blonde brows shaded his lashes in a trimmed fence line. Peter looked the part of a country, fair haired, Marlon Brando, and I realized in that moment my stare was reflecting in his eyes in a glass-like mirror. My brain swam to the surface, focusing on the change in his facade. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His mouth set in that same childish grin, matching his soft, playful features. “Again with the staring. Do you do much else darlin’?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A beet red blush spread across my cheeks like margarine. I could feel the long forgotten heat spread down my neck and onto my chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As I was about to speak, something changed in his whiskey-soaked sightline. His almost boyish features hardened into a grimace. His hand fisted my own, setting the tea on the coffee table at the crease of his calves. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finding my tongue growing heavy in my mouth I spoke, “Pe-ter is everything okay?” My eyes raced to his hand as it rose to his collar. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In an instant his face physically uncramped, the smile coming back to features, wolfier now more than ever. But his eyes gathered into slits in a humourless way. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You just have such a pretty blush, Bell, you flush like a schoolgirl, ya know that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His voice came out hushed. Slow as molasses on a frigid winter afternoon. Like each word was a connecting jigsaw puzzle and he was looking for the next piece. In response, saliva ran down my throat like I had had a cold, the heat rising through the air and into my head. The knot in my stomach felt like it was tightening, closer and closer to snapping if he leaned any farther into my face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A rogue wind blew through a set of copper windchimes on the front porch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter’s stare disconnected as he rushed to pop open the button of his collar in a quick flick of his fingers. A true smile replaced the earlier one and spread over his upper lips and into his eyes. His mouth reminded me of a slow, murky river. The kind no one should go into without a life jacket. But the kids still try it, and all you hear is shouting from a town over, nothing coming from their mother’s lips but sobbing for the next forty-odd years. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh lord-- sorry lil Bell, didn’t mean to get in yer space like that, the south winds here are just…” His voice hardened, “just wash somethin’ over the house… over me today.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His feet, still clad with his cowboy boots, shifted around the stump of a table and to the couch he had mentioned before. It’s long back almost obscured the front door with his added height. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Without the coffee table, with our feet outstretched, we could’ve touched. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I calmed down my breathing enough to speak coherently, “No… I get it. Definitely… get it.” A swallow followed to bring the collection of spit back down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus Bella could you have gotten that out any less freaked out? Something is thoroughly wrong with this man PLUS whatever the hell ‘winds’ he’s talking about, you could very well be putting yourself in more danger than you ever had in Forks. He could be plotting to dump your body out in the desert for god sake. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>Or he just thinks you’re pretty. Maybe this is just how cowboys act, huh? This could be what you’ve been wishing for for months, Bella. Some cowboy to take you away. Wait... how does that song go? </em>
  </b>
  <span>A bastardized voice came from the back of my skull. The same sickly-sweet tone that turned off my blaring alarms around…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So what brings you to San Ang?”, Peter rolled out, his feet landing on the table, his hands stretched out behind his fluffy blonde halo. A small sliver of pale skin could be seen right above his belt. I looked to the floor before answering, only adding to the stupid blush which hadn’t left.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just traveling. Relationship went bad. Could even say it nuked my life.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The oddly reassuring nod from before came back in full force, a stark contrast from the baited silence he blew across my face what seemed like just moments before. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If he tries something, what does it matter if I tell him the rest of the story?</span>
  </em>
  <span> I sighed, my body curling forward to grab the glass again. “He just sort of left me. He took my heart with him, you know. For a year I wandered around my hometown, numb to my core, just looking for anything he left behind. I even had a friend try to pull me out of it. I think I ended up pushing him away before I left.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So now I’m here. Came into Texas maybe a month and a half ago. Just followed the road signs,” My eyes snapped up to his, “there aren’t any on this road.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter’s brows quirked up in a laughably adorable way-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>am I really calling the potential nutbag adorable?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Almost as if he felt my mood change, he laughed. A full belly, hands on his chest, forehead wrinkled like the Sunday morning newspaper, laugh. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sound eased away my present fear and outrage </span>
  <em>
    <span>just a hair. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My lil Bell-- don’t you get what private property means? You’re smack dab in the middle of abouta’ hundred acres of nothin’, missy. The mud you found yerself on was just a walkin’ trail through the land.”, Peter belted out, body leaning forward, his hands lowering to his knees. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My thoughts raced, but only one sentence formed in my mouth, its edges familiar window glass, “It’s Bella.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A snort started his response, “C’mon. A little girl like you don’t wanna be referred to lika singin’ cartoony princess? You gotta be shittin’ me darlin.” He blew out a harsh stream of wind through his teeth. I could almost visualize him sitting on a porch somewhere spitting out peanut shells, dust coating the tops of his jeans. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Listen I don’t need your sympathy or your criticism of my ability to navigate. I’ve been doing just fine on my own, just let me see a phone and I’ll get outta your hair.” My body became heated with a different kind of feeling, the anger rushing through me at his insult. I stood up, my jeans ripping away from the leather seat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His form didn’t move an inch. His eyes rolled into his head and went to stare right back at me. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bell,” I pinched my eyebrows together at the nickname but he continued, “I’m not insultin’ ya, I’m proud that you got this far south on yer own two feet. I have to say I didn’t expect much from a girl sleepin’ in her own truck in the middle of some one-way backroad, but you’re surprising’ me in a lot of ways.” His eyes swept to the kitchen for a quick second. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh and Bell, The nickname works. Trust me on it. It’s that voice of yers. Sounds like Christmas carolin.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My face constricted in a dumb-found expression, the observation rattling me to my core. I’d never thought of my voice as anything other than dull compared to the Cullens. Some lifeless monotone of a teenage girl. His face looked sincere, the braziness fading behind his eyes. He looked even sweet as he said the last few words. Like there was a memory he wasn't sharing in between them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I managed to get out soft ‘thank you’ as my anger faded to a null ache. My hands climbed up my hips to my collarbones as I held myself in a self-cradle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I could almost hear a piece of the cement around my heart cracking in the nonexistent wind. I had left my light jacket in the truck, and yet, I felt as if I was hiding behind another barrier, a straight jacket around my collapsing sanity. Their memory, their mob horns tic home and their sing-song voices and their obviously faked investment into my life trying to weasel its way out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sweetheart you’re rocking.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Looking down at my posture I could see the slight sway to my stance, a mechanism I had developed just nights after He left me in the forest, Charlie had said it was a self soothing technique. I just thought it was proof that I may be actually losing my mind. “Oh, Sorry.” My legs brought me back down to my seat in a slow collapse. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His smile widened, his pearly-white teeth showing themselves off for the first time. I expected a crinkle to appear around his eyes, but it never did. I wondered what it did look like when the lines overcame his face in the night, what kind of beauty showed through when he was alone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothin’ to be sorry about Bells, I get what you’re doin’.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I nodded my head, almost not present in the conversation. My eyes glued to my lap. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And about that phone… I called my brother earlier, he’s on a huntin’ trip not far from here. He should be home soon and I’ll have him fix up your truck. No worries darlin’, no worries.” His hand found hovered over the bridge of my knuckles making my eyes drift up into his. I found a genuine kindness in them, and something else I couldn’t identify. Again, there was something about the words as they curled through his mouth. Like he knew something I didn’t. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter’s hand slowly retracted to his belt, the shine of the metal highlighted by a beam of sun through the windows. It bounced back onto his skin, creating a shimmer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My thoughts captured that and put it into the back of my mind for later. “When is he gonna be back?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A determined gleam sauntered into the quirk of his lip. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tonight my lil Bell, he’ll be back tonight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For some reason my stomach twisted at his words, and not just at the nickname. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Doors</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bella goes searching through the house and finds more than she ever thought she would</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey yall, I want to apologize for the very late update-- I've had one of the worst months of my life and one of the best at the same time. A conversation for another time?</p>
<p>To be truthful, I do not know if I will ever regularly post. And trust me, I'm sorry for that. </p>
<p>Thank you for reading and continue to your destination</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Far away, in the corner of my cramped mind, I could see the carefully threaded stitches around the secrets I kept stashed start to loosen. My mouth itched, my swollen tongue beginning to wrap around the two-syllable curse. In a not-too-distant memory I remembered the same phrase rolling through my body. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>My brother</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The inflection those little words held brought me back to a dark day in a candle-flame haze. A table full of glass at my back, their needle teeth slicing into the beaks of my elbows. The grand piano’s thundering collapse under the weight of an endless hunger. A predator holding a doe in a soft embrace to stop all the </span>
  <b>blood</b>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All of it mine. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘My brother is the newest to our way of life, my brother can feel the emotions in the air, my brother-- this isn’t about him-- my brother </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jasper’ </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My teeth pressed into my lips, etching the sharp points of his name in a dry caress. The only Cullen I never blamed. Even Emmett had left on Edward’s word. Jasper-- Jasper was forced. Too much blood. All mine.</span>
  <em>
    <span> All mine. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You look like yer gonna faint, Bell.” Peter’s voice came out soft and slow, nothing like the rushed bareback drawl I was used to. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine, Just a…” my voice drifted off, even itself unsure of what I meant. What was I supposed to tell him? I had already made the choice to tell him my sob story, what’s another tear?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His form straightened before I could continue, his long legs bouncing on his heels as he straightened his sleeves. I could make out the presence of a cold wrinkle at his waist, the cotton pressing itself tight while he sat and watched me daydream, daynightmare?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter ran a hand through his hair and announced with a breached grin, “Well Bells, I need to tow your truck back er’ so I’ll be back in a lil while.” He placed a foot forward to march, presumably, to the front door but I shot up on my haunches and stopped him in his tracks. “Do you need any help?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes connected to my own, their mahogany galaxy twinkling and swirling with unknown depth. With a shake of his head, he blew a stream of air out of his mouth. It was almost a whistle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah doll. You just… walk through the house or somethin’. Get some explorin’ done in those </span>
  <em>
    <span>shoes </span>
  </em>
  <span>of yours, I just remodeled the place and you look like you need some time to let out some steam.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A small ‘thank you’ left my throat as I guiltily watched him walk out the door. My stomach loosened at the sound of the jam closing, my fists releasing in my back pockets. No matter what the cowboy’s intentions were at least I’d get a moment to myself. And better yet, a moment to find out whatever I could about him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My lashes scanned the room I was perched in. The walls were a warm margarine color, the matteness reminding me of my mother’s rushed paint strokes over Charlie’s kitchen cabinets. My father, with his ever-sinking heart, never could just replace them. Or rip them out with a forceful fist. The memory of summer nights spent watching him from in between the stair spindles, lying in the same old chair, staring at the last letter his first love ever gave him. His hands would go to reach out, to brush against the grain, but he’d always pull back. His shaking knuckles trapped between the edge of his lap and the cold silver of his wedding ring.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A glint of gunmetal sitting by the stove was my cue to softly skip upstairs, my feet narrowly missing the third step-- its creak a learned sacrifice to my unwanted presence. With my breath held in the dip of my chest, I’d slink to the purple comforter lining my bed and slip under it. The polyester folding over my eyes as the water slipped out, tears running down my cheeks like it was some kind of pathetic race. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everytime I stepped into that house I could make out the half smudged handprints along the paint drips, the oil from Charlie’s fingers ratting him out for indulging. The marks a caricature of all the reasons I had to leave. To escape his heartache. To escape mine. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I let out a breath of chastiation. I was supposed to be running from my problems, not reliving them in vivid detail with a rancher perched on my shoulder. My legs were still standing as I came back to earth. The living room speaking too loudly for my mind to handle. I forced a step forward. And then another. I was halfway to the kitchen when I realised what I was waiting for: another ghost to jump back out at me. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I spared a chuckle to the air. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The kitchen was almost entirely some sort of dark wood, the cabinets looking less like the cover of a home renovation magazine and more like a craftsman's workshop. I ran my hand along the spacious island as I stared at the delicate molding that covered the doors. Made by a man who took pride in his work, birthing wonders with his hands made of tree bark; using all the time my father wished he had. The hinges looked older than I was-- but sturdy. Things built to last longer than the drywall they were attached to. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Marble coated the counters, bathed in strokes of greys and whites with touches of shimmering opal hidden in the centers. The stone made the room feel even larger than it was, lightening up the knotty walnut covering the floors. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My breath caught in my throat as I had held onto one of the door latches. I could feel the smooth steel pressing into my uncalloused fingertips, the secrets they held whispering to me. I wrenched the cabinet open and let out the air trapped in my lungs. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Empty. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not even a crumb of a box to be seen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I opened the next and found the same. My brows furrowed as I slid open door after door, every hand-carved cupboard bare. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My brain went back into overdrive, red and blue lights flashing like police sirens through my skull. I pushed down the fear. The nauseating suspicion. Peter had said he just renovated the place, a southern mansion doesn’t take a day to build, it wasn’t completely off the wagon to assume he hadn’t stocked the room since he finished it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe he just didn’t like cooking. Or he eats out. Maybe he spends all his days ripping open steaming cow caracasses with his teeth, the blood dripping down from his mouth to his forearms like a sacrifice. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p><b><em>Oh my god.</em></b> <b><em>Get a hold of yourself Bells. He’s just a man on 100 acres of nothing but grass sitting in one of the prettiest homes you’ve ever seen. A human man maybe with a trust fund, a family fortune, who thinks you needed some saving. And you did. He’s probably got a girl a town over with an oven which is constantly rotating out pastries to fill him up better than anything here. </em></b></p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hopefully. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I backed away from the kitchens as I closed all of his untold secrets tightly behind the wooden facades and tried to breathe through my nose. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My eyes hit the corner of a door painted eggshell white, the only light thing in the house that was permanent. Everything else ebony stains or creamy yellows, it looked stark against the dark background surrounding it. I reached a hand forward like I was waiting for my touch to turn acid over the weight of the silver knob. It shook, the blood in my veins thrumming just under the skin. I slowly turned the handle, the door making a slight </span>
  <em>
    <span>creeeeeeekk </span>
  </em>
  <span>as I pulled it towards my body.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Looking into the well of blackness behind it sparked terror behind my irises. I could see the sparkle of a thousand warnings on the tips of seven marble tongues. My fingers reached up and flicked on the light switch to the right. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stairs. Just. Stairs. The wood was dusty and ancient, a show of the house’s bones. Its vintage heart beating just under the floorboards. I couldn’t see beyond them, the shadows cast by something down there escaping the light. I slammed the door closed and flicked off the switch in a show of confidence, as if to show to anyone watching I wasn’t terrified of a set of creepy old stairs leading to an unimaginable darkness. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I almost ran back to the living room like my ass was on fire, trying to rid myself of any thought of potential monsters hiding in the bowels of the empty home. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My heart stopped racing as I calmed, my hand skimming the walls as I took in every piece of art and picture hanging. The photos were a minority, only containing southwestern scenes of crumbling farmhouses and faded battlegrounds. All the bookshelves were stacked high with historic encyclopedias, studies on human and animal physiology, myths— with loosely bound odds and ends. The classics were displayed haphazardly on the middle shelves, the weight of some creating a small bow in the lines. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My own collection in Forks was still mostly intact. The only novels I brought with me were </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wuthering Heights </span>
  </em>
  <span>and a worn out copy of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Little Women, </span>
  </em>
  <span>both having seen better days. In the quiet moments, between the liquidness of the clear Texas sky and the burn of asphalt under the Chevy I could almost retrace the markings of my bedposts, my headboard clinking against the drywall with only a nail holding it in place. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A winding hallway connected to the living room held rows of simple doors, all of disinterest to me except for one on the very end.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Like some slow-crawling horror movie cut scene I followed the ivory carpet lining the floor to the brass handle. Another relic from a bygone era. I could make out the slight bruise of the metal around the skeleton keyhole, my finger traced the scratches with an innocent breed of compulsion: each line a story memorized by my fingertips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The knob was cold under my hand as I clicked it to the left, my body shocked under a wash of Deja Vu. I was careful as I heard it open. A small pull on the wood paneling followed with my other palm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My breath never relaxed in my stagnant lungs. It felt as if dirty pond water trapped in my throat as I took in the heavily decorated room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A four poster queen bed stood underneath a simple window filled with candles, a Turkish rug flat underneath the sheer weight. More bookcases flattened on either side of the bed in place of end tables. Both were packed, unorganized in literary lumps. Novels shoved in between cracks on their covers, journals laying on top of spines, slivers of paper sticking out between hardbacks. All I could see were worn out titles or torn pages from where I was standing. The shelves looked heavy with knowledge and </span>
  <em>
    <span>clutter. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A mad man’s work. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My feet shuffled forward to slip over the carpet and wash my eyes over the rest of the walls. Not a single one was left blank. The paint was almost as dark as the mahogany frames lining each corner, filled with maps and treaties and what could only be field notes from a hundred years ago. All persevered by the touch of a serious historian. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I was slack jawed as I took in the first human picture I had seen in the house. Sitting at the shoulder of the right bookcase a small photo sat in a dusty frame, a man staring back at me with slanted eyes. Hair like Peter’s, shoulder length but less wild, eyes a soft kind of what I could only imagine to be green, the curl of a uniform at his throat and arms. A gun was poised in his hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The face was a haunting memory of a night I couldn’t forget. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Jasper</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes Isabella?” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Broken Record</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jasper takes Bella down memory lane-- and not in a lovely way.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Look at us yall, updating within two weeks (okay maybe just at the edge of that time frame but god sue me). Thank yall for readin!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>So this is how I’m going to die. Ram-rod straight in the middle of Texas without a God to run to. A blond vampire this close to snapping my neck. </p>
<p>Not the worst way I could go. </p>
<p>“Isabella.” His voice was hard in his throat like a demand, a wayward streak of unnatural easiness stitching in and out of his vocal cords. My mouth had clamped shut under the weight of his entrance— and I was afraid it would never open again. Another thing preparing me for a shallow grave. </p>
<p>His tone was softer the third time, “Isabella Swan I’m not going to hurt you” </p>
<p>Why wouldn’t he? That’s what all monsters say before they take you by the head and—</p>
<p>He was in front of me before I could hear the wind rush past my ears. He forced my eyes to meet his as I stepped back, his presence like a marble bridge on my legs. Jasper blocked the picture of the soldier behind the broad expanse of his shoulders, my eyes hardly noticing past the whirlwind of butterfly emotions hiding under his lashes. Flicks of sadness and fear and the hardened steel of regret ran through the…. the…. carmine of his irises. </p>
<p>Red eyes. Red eyes. </p>
<p>I couldn’t help the exaggerated gasp that fell from my lips. I could make out the ghost of a smile at the corner of his mouth before it slunk away. </p>
<p>“Lots of things have changed in the last year, Isabella” </p>
<p>The only thing I could get out through my teeth was a weak protest, “Stop calling me that.”</p>
<p>I wasn’t going to admit that for some lonesome reason each syllable out of his crooked mouth brought a curl of a flame over my spine. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, no matter my prior acceptance of his actions. </p>
<p>Jasper shook his head and side stepped my body to allow distance to form between us. His large frame still towered over me in the dark room, his hands like anchors in their size: big enough to cover both of my hips easily. Why am I thinking about him touching anything? </p>
<p>His eyebrow quirked up as the thought accompanied a small path of blush across my chest, but he still refused to move his gaze from my eyes. “What brings you to Texas Isabella? And especially to my home?” </p>
<p>My eyes widened at the revealing questions but I managed to find my voice “I think you may know the answer to that.” I whispered. I wouldn’t dare sink into the waves of what his second comment meant. </p>
<p>I realized at that moment that I had never seen his face playful. The soft edges of a teenage boy rounding the angular cuts of his cheeks and chin called out to me as he pondered my response. In the dim light of his bedroom Jasper looked almost serene, the blood red glinting in his eye sockets turning to a long winded hum of garnet. I couldn’t take my sight off of the loose curls framing his pale face or the raised ridges of danger sitting in his hardened skin. </p>
<p>“My brot— my family— never thought you’d leave Forks.” He softly let out a stream of chilled air, creasing his brows at his correction “My reaction at your birthday party was never supposed to send you running.” His fingers ticked at his side hard enough for me to catch. I wondered what he was trying not to reach for. </p>
<p>Jasper’s head tipped up to the ceiling as he broke eye contact and almost hissed “I was never meant to send you running.”</p>
<p>My heart thumped ceremoniously in my chest as I stared at him with the worth of a million scraps of ice. I couldn’t help but turn my body to face him entirely. </p>
<p>“You didn’t send me anywhere.” </p>
<p>The questions racing through my mind at his every crushed syllable were forced to take a back seat to my determination. “I left because I needed to. Not because of any vampire heartthrob.” </p>
<p>His head fell back to its resting position and faced me with a stoney exterior. The words coming out of my mouth were cluttered but they were soaked with feelings I couldn’t name. </p>
<p>“My youngest brother left you in those woods all those months ago and you’re trying to pretend that didn’t launch your sudden want to travel south? A place where the sun shouldn’t allow the creatures you're running from to exist?” His sight line penetrated my confidence slowly, his words holding a knowledge I'd thrash my teeth at in any other situation. </p>
<p>I used the only thing stagnant in my mind against his accusations, “Says the human drinker.” seemingly fearing for my life less and less as my voice squeaked. </p>
<p>His brow just nearly raised. </p>
<p>My brain had other plans than his prompted silence, a sudden and unbearable heat in my chest causing anger to run through my teeth. “So you’ve fallen off the wagon? Tried to take a bite out of me not a year ago and decided you wanted more?” My voice was quickly rising to a shout, “Well take me then, that’s what you were going for in the first place!” I’m sure I looked deranged, the clink of my vertebrae echoed in my ears as I tried to raise myself as straight as possible, menacingly. My heart thrummed in my chest as I let out everything that had been building up since he left— since they all left me. </p>
<p>Jasper held something other than pity in his ruby eyes, his smirk nowhere to be found as I felt a small scrape of sadness rush down my back like a bead of sweat. He stepped forward as my chest started to slow and crept a hand to my temple. I hardly noticed the tears seeping from my eyes until he wiped them away with a calloused thumb. </p>
<p>“I’m not going to hurt you.” His fingers never stopped as they rubbed the side of my face in a gentle cradle. “I was never trying to hurt you.” </p>
<p>My heart felt like a confused cocktail. Mixers made of burnt alcohol and pain. Sadness and anger equal demons swimming in the glass. I never lost eye contact as I fledged my palm to cover his own, letting his chill seep into my flesh like a nighttime remedy. </p>
<p>He was quiet for a moment as he took in the movement, scanning the bones in my hand as if I were a column in a newspaper he couldn’t read. Jasper’s eyes were like watered down whiskey, the burn of staring into them making my skin turn to ice. He let out an unnecessary breath. “This has all escalated very fast don’t you think? Why don’t we talk in the sitting room?” </p>
<p>His hand cascaded down my face to my shoulder in a slow sweep. My head felt as if it were pounded in by a cinderblock and all I had the energy to do was follow him. I kept my own hands to myself as he drifted both our bodies through the hall, his boots clicking on the hardwood. </p>
<p>“You’re going to explain what the hell you're talking about right?” My brain found my tongue in a twisted mess before we had passed all of the doors. </p>
<p>He nodded, his body never losing contact with mine as he did so. “Darlin’ I’ll explain everything you want me to, as long as you tell me how you found yourself here.” </p>
<p>I silently agreed even as the itch to run from his grasp flitted across my back. As if he could feel it he only gripped my arm tighter. </p>
<p>The living room came into view quickly with his long strides. I had never noticed how tall he was before, his body never straying this close to mine. The fear I expected to sing in my head at the idea of a real vampire almost hugging my form never came. I didn’t know if the blame should be placed on my less than admirable life sustainability instincts, as Edward had called them, or his overhanging gift— the only power I knew I only compromised small details of. Alice’s premonition or the red head’s faulty mind reading were constantly on display, hyper focused in any conversation between the two. Jasper’s pathokinesis was almost a mystery. </p>
<p>My thoughts were broken by the sight of a particularly greasy, beaming, Peter. “I see you’ve met my brother.” </p>
<p>My eyes opened wide at the comment, causing my brain to make the connection between the two. “Jasper’s the brother you’ve been talking about?” </p>
<p>The two men exchanged a look and I felt a chuckle run through my spine at the point it met Jasper’s chest. I flushed under the laughter as the slightly shorter man never lost his smile, his eyes flashing with a tell-tale sense of knowing. I would’ve never guessed the denim clad blond in front of me was a…. vampire. </p>
<p>A shake of his light waves brought my attention forward, the light escaping the curtains highlighting the gleam of his skin I had noticed earlier. It was only then that my brain allowed my conscious to dissect all the clues he had given me. I realized an integral piece was missing as he went to open his mouth, “Your eyes aren’t red.”</p>
<p>Peter creased his brows together and stared at me straight in the forehead before heaving his shoulders back and letting air pass through his lips slowly. </p>
<p>“When’s the last time you fed, Pete?” </p>
<p>The cold hand at my shoulder lifted slightly in favor of his feet as he stepped towards the cowboy. Peter’s eyes rolled at his brother. “A week ago or so. Not my fault our little Bell happens to smell so good.” </p>
<p>I almost scoffed at the word ’our’ but Jasper beat my throat. “You’re lucky for that or she would’ve been screaming for help hours ago.” My face must have let out some of my confusion across its painted facade and the two sighed in unison— I didn’t know for what though, Peter’s happy coincidence or about everything they hadn’t told me yet, or maybe, just maybe, what I still hadn’t told them. </p>
<p>“Are either of you going to tell me what any of this,” I motioned around the room and then between them “means, or am I just gonna become dinner?” I was deceivingly calm throughout my light questioning, the presence of being between their bodies making the hair at the back of my neck zing. </p>
<p>Peter met my voice with a dramatic sway of his hand, pointing to the couch he had sat on earlier. “After you Princess.” </p>
<p>I huffed and managed to side step Jasper without him moving, wanting to get whatever this day was turning out to be over with. If I was going to die in this house I was at least going to with knowledge. </p>
<p>My ass hit the cushions as I wrung my head back “So?” The two were perched on their respective seats before I could blink. Peter coming to my right, arm curled around the back of the furniture. Jasper in the chair I had staked for myself that morning.</p>
<p>He looked more relaxed than I had ever seen him— the golden wheat that made up his hair curling around his face in a bounce, a leather jacket laid over his frame in a tight fit, his ankles crossed at the floor. His long legs almost took up the entire space between us. He met my gaze with a rogue wink and I was quick to look to the wall behind him. </p>
<p>Peter was the first to speak. “Sorry I didn’t mention my fangy attributes earlier, sugar.” He flashed me a double rowed smile with ease, the humor lifting off of him almost enough to pollute the room. </p>
<p>I sighed in response and buried my head in my hands, muttering. “It’s always vampires.” My head lifted for a fraction of a second to quip “Can’t you all be anything else? I mean at least a real serial killer or something?” </p>
<p>The clench of my fingers around my skull beckoned only silence, a hushed laugh swirling around the sofa. I felt a pair of not-quite-familiar palms uncurl my hands and lower them to my lap with a barely there fight. Jasper’s digits laced themselves slightly before flying back to his seat across the rug. I couldn’t help but add another bug of confusion to my ever growing list at the action, but rounded it to the end. </p>
<p>“I can be a serial killer if you want me to be, doll.” I didn’t miss Peter’s ever present tease as I fell back into the cushion with a pointed glare at the man. </p>
<p>“Peter quit.” His voice was almost a growl as I snapped my attention to the soldier in front. Jasper tilted his head to mirror mine as he spoke “What do you wanna know first Isabella?” </p>
<p>I could feel the color drain out of my face as I contemplated his words. What did I want to know? The house and the land and the damn color of his eyes were making my brain ache. The way he said my name didn’t help my train of thought either….</p>
<p>I brought a knee to my chest and tucked in under my chin and replied uneasily “Why are you with your family anymore?” Let’s start at the beginning I guess. </p>
<p>He never blinked as he pierced me with an iron gaze. “I—“ he took a deep breath and flickered to the man at my shoulder, “This diet— the four-legged variety— I thought it was a solution to a problem I had.” He looked as if I was supposed to know what that problem was. When I returned his stare with a raised brow he explained. “You know I can feel the emotions of those around me?” I nodded silently “That means I can feel the emotions of my prey. At first, being in the Southern Wars—“ My mouth cut him off, “Southern Wars?” </p>
<p>Peter flicked my ear softly at the interruption and whispered “It’s a long story.” </p>
<p>His brother sighed and continued “Peter’s right, it’s a very long story on the best of nights. But in all due time.” Jasper sat pensively for a moment and allowed the sun to rest on the side of his face as he mulled over his words. The sparse shine of his skin was almost completely marred by patches of matte flesh, crescent moons littering the entirety of his exposed body. I could only imagine if those were the result of the Southern Wars or not. </p>
<p>“What do you know of my history Bella?” </p>
<p>I merely shrugged. “I know of your gift, but not most of it. And that you were a soldier when you were turned. But other than that, Edward hadn’t told me much about it.” </p>
<p>A guttural drawl ran through his mouth as he took in the statement. “Of course Cullen didn’t tell you. Afraid he’d scare you off.” His eyes turned razor blade sharp as they focused back on my face. I swallowed hard as I tried to puff myself up in response. </p>
<p>“To continue, my power allows me the unhinged ability to feel the emotional climate around me. This was particularly difficult as I hunted. Humans feel a hundred things on the brink of death. Sadness, fear, completion, regret, worry. It all blends together into a sludge at the back of my teeth— to be… frank. I believed, Alice made me believe, that animal emotions would be different.” Jasper closed his eyes in a stroke of what looked to be pain “They aren’t. They never were. We’re just monkeys that found out how to lace a belt, Isabella. We feel and hurt and cry all the same as a doe does on the forest floor. But…” another sharp release of breath “I did it for Alice.” </p>
<p>I expected a smile to slide across his face, but found nothing of the sort. His eyes opened and looked to his hands, his finger devoid of the dull silver ring I remembered him wearing when I was dating his brother. Betrayal and desperation oozed off his shoulders in sticky pools. My lungs felt heavy with it. He rubbed his palms together all the same. </p>
<p>“She was my guiding light into this life. I wanted to do right by her. Make her happy. I knew who I was, who I had become in my past, she didn’t like that man. She didn’t like the demons inside, tried to change that. And I don’t blame her.” </p>
<p>I felt the deep need to take his wringing hands and hold them to my face again. I dug my nails into my palms to stop the thought. </p>
<p>“And she was a whiney bitch for it.” Peter's loud voice surprised me, making me jump on the soft cushion. He barely spared me a glance as he drilled a glare into the taller man. </p>
<p>“Pete—“ “There was nothing wrong with you in the first place. Ya just needed to not be surrounded by death every second of every day and you would’ve been jus’ fine. But no, those ‘vampires’ made you eat fluffy dirt for the last fifte’ years for love. What kind of love doesn’t accept you for who ya are?” </p>
<p>My eyes nearly bugged out of my head at the conversation. I hadn’t seen an issue between the couple before, Jasper was Alice's menacing shadow in all definitions. I had never thought that Jasper could be anything else— I felt shame color my tongue at the realization. </p>
<p>Jasper took his head in his hands like I had done, the blond hair falling between the crack of his fingers. A crumbling waterfall before my eyes. The room felt submerged in a shallow pool of melancholy as he tried to breathe. </p>
<p>“When I attacked you on your birthday, I didn’t do it for me.” He dropped his hands to his knees and peered at me through his curls. “The bloodlust in that room was… it was polarizing. Edward was the worst of it— not to mention Emmett. I was overwhelmed with the need to taste some for myself. It didn’t help that Cullen shoved you into that glass table like a damn fool.” </p>
<p>I couldn’t see straight. The things he was saying, the overflowing conscious he was admitting took the air out of my lungs. Edward wanted to… he wanted to eat me? </p>
<p>Jasper curved his body over mine and ran a hand over my knee. “He had battled with wanting to drain you since he first caught your scent. I was amazed he hadn’t put you in those woods sooner, doll.” The pain in my heart was fresh in his voice. I barely registered the pet name as I shivered into his touch. I couldn’t track my own head as I tried to align the information he was giving me and fought my tongue to get anything out. As he squeezed my thigh I met his eyes. “Why’d you leave the Cullens?” I felt like a broken record. </p>
<p>His irises screamed words I couldn’t decipher as he started. “I couldn’t handle the guilt. Edward ran off and Carlisle and Esme mirrored his disposition. Emmett and Rosalie left for another honeymoon across the world— their own version of running I suppose. Alice… Alice looked disappointed. Every time she’d glance at me or hold my hand I felt a cloud of hidden emotions.” He sighed and took a long blink. “I was tired of trying to  make something work that I knew would never pan out.” </p>
<p>Peter weakly hovered a palm over my shoulder. “The Major knew he was only eating Bambi for that obnoxious pixie, and if there was no her, there didn’t need to be anymore Bambi.” </p>
<p>For a moment I felt my thoughts untangle and sort themselves in manageable piles. There was the side which understood having to be something you’re not for someone and the other that was unsettled by the human blood swirling behind his eyes. I ended up nodding to save myself from forming words. </p>
<p>The man to my right removed his hand and stood from the couch with a creak coming from the springs. He spread a joyous smile on his face and dug my keys out from his jean pocket. Dropping them in my lap he gave me a mock salute and started to shuffle to the door, a “Meet me outside when you’re ready to see her.” Thrown over his shoulder. </p>
<p>I shook my head at his ever changing mood and looked to the stone hand still perched on my knee. I could make out the gleam of scars around his knuckles and wrist before he pulled back. I had half a mind to grab it. “Major?” </p>
<p>A laugh bubbled up from his throat, the sound like a hearth in my chest. “Long story darlin’.”</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>